


Canto Bight!

by philipaltmanspackofcigs



Category: Moulin Rouge! (2001), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Solo is a Mess, Dirty Dancing, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gay Poe Dameron, HEA, Idiots in Love, Implied Poe Dameron/Finn, Inspired by Moulin Rouge!, Light Angst, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Ben Solo, Rey Needs A Hug, Vaginal Sex, Writer Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philipaltmanspackofcigs/pseuds/philipaltmanspackofcigs
Summary: Inspired by Moulin Rouge! (2001)This story is about Love.Ben leaves Alderaan to pursue freedom, beauty, truth and love... which he finds in Rey, a courtesan at Canto Bight. Love, hate, art, sex, and angst ensue.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Canto Bight!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a boy  
> A very strange enchanted boy  
> They say he wandered very far, very far  
> Over land and sea  
> A little shy and sad of eye  
> But very wise was he

**_CANTO BIGHT._** A nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello, ruled over by Poe Dameron. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich played with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these women? Rey. A courtesan, she sold her love to men. They called her "The Sparkling Diamond." And she was the star of Canto Bight. And Ben, the writer, the romantic, fell madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with her. 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The main floor of Canto overflowed with sweaty bodies; male patrons from all over flocking to find some reprieve from the relentless arm of the First Order. Poe Dameron, a charismatic bastard if there ever was one, loves to provide entertainment in the form of women of all shapes and sizes. The night that Ben arrived, there were scantily clad women in monochromatic, revealing dresses thrusting and gyrating to the music coming from nowhere and everywhere. They called out and sang at random, but the cacophony reverberated in the room's collective ribcage, giving the feeling of temptation and oneness and anonymity. Ben melted into the scene. He was so relieved to be free from the pressures of his privileged life. Did this make him an asshole, he worried? He's sure it did, but it did not change the feeling of peace. 

Han and Leia were eager to see him take over as Senator, or if he refused, to see him off to train with his hermit uncle Luke, and learn the "ways of the force" or whatever crunchy shit Luke was into then. But neither predetermined path held any pull for Ben. He had wasted so much time conforming and forcing effort and agreeability; now was the time to be selfish. He was single and free from debts and now, free from familial expectations, he had writing to do. 

Weaving through the crowds, Ben locked his sight on a small group of mismatched men. They were the ones he had heard of in whispers on the journey to Cantonica: the Knights of Ren. Each of them piss poor in wealth, but phenomenally rich in talent. As Ben approached, he heard them drunkenly arguing. 

The largest of the men slams his fist on the table, "Ushar, see reason!! There is no WAY we will trick Dameron into funding another one of your fucking plotless self-pity parties. We are not here to dance around you like monkeys, we are ARTISTS. BOHEMIANS. CHILDREN OF THE RESISTANCE!" Each word accompanied by spittle and a ground shaking pound. Ben looked between the men's' facing, trying to determine which one was this "Ushar" character. He was not hard to spot: a vein turning purple as it pops out of his forehead, knuckles white and biceps strained. "FUCK YOU VICRUL, YOU KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE THE POWER OF MY PROSE. HOW DARE YOU DOUBT ME AFTER ALL THIS TIME?!" 

Vicrul appeared to maintain his current temper, but responded in an even tone, unfazed, "Well fine then, go on and propose your little play to Poe, but know that you will have to look elsewhere for your performers. We are done. Aren't we, Knights?" he proposed, eyes scanning the expressions of the others, and then settling on Ben, who had perhaps gotten too close in an effort to engage in the expanding drama. "You're new. Who are you? What do you want? Can't you see we are mid-rehearsal?" 

Ben, off-guard by Vicrul's explanation of the situation, dumbly responded, "Rehearsing? Do you always rehearse fights? Or is your acting that good?" All of the men take a short pause, baited breath, when Vicrul bursts out laughing, "Ha! No. I suppose we don't. But maybe we should. Then Ushar could actually get a win in edgewise." He elbows his fellow Knight, who seems less than amused. "But really, who are you?" 

Ben pondered for a moment, his inner writer forcing him into a existential inner-soliloquy. "...I'm Ben. Uh, Ben Solo. I'm... just arriving here. Now. For the first time." he stutters, cursing himself for absolutely fucking the chance to be confident and verbose. 

"Well, Ben Solo, what bring you to Canto Bight? Hiding from the First Order, looking for a lady, or looking to be discovered?" 

"Uh... yes? All of those? I mean, I left home to become a writer. I, well, uh, I AM a writer I guess. I mean, I can write! I don't need to be taught how to write. I just haven't ever really... written before. But I can. And I'm good." 

"Now I'm sold. Well, Ben, by the way you stumbled through tit to get here, I'm guessing you know who we are?" Vicrul asked, with an eyebrow arched. All around, the performance that must have been going on throughout the argument faded out, and the lighting changed, and a can-can started up. This caught the attention of two of the large Knights, and they drifted towards the dancefloor. 

"You are the Knights of Ren?" Ben meant it as a statement, but the residual discomfort of this conversation happening before he had the chance to rehearse it in his mind made him sound unsure. 

"In the flesh! I'm Vicrul, those two over there are Ap'Lek and Turuk, Cardo and Trudgen are likely at the bar, and this is the notorious Ushar." Ben nodded in acknowledgement, and decided to be brave and asked, "So Ushar, you write? I mean, you wrote the play they showed here last night, right?" 

Ushar made a quick breath out his nose and looked at the ceiling, "Obviously. Now go ahead and find someone else to suck your little prick, the Knights aren't looking for any talent, let alone some mediocre, snot-nosed writer." Ben flinched at the insult, and made quick eye contact with Vicrul, and turned on his heel without any intention of defending himself. 

Vicrul quickly slapped the back of Ushar's head and said, "Well we MIGHT be in the market for a new writer, I'm getting sick of this drama queen. Do you have any samples of your writing? A poem to recite, maybe?" 

"Uhmmm, no not with me. But I have something back at my room, if you want to come up? Oh shit, I promise that wasn't a proposition. I'm not gay. NOT that I'm against being gay, I'm just unfortunately... attracted to women? Fuck, I promise I am good with words. In writing. When I have a chance to use my brain." 

Vicrul laughs easily and says, "Okay big boy, let's see your room." 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The Knights seemed surprised to find themselves still within the jurisdiction of Canto Bight as Ben unlocked the door to his room. The tips of his ears, peaking out through his chin length waves, burned red with embarrassment. Should he have gotten a room further from the dancehall? It probably wasn't normal for the artist types to be living right on top of the dancers and courtesans. But Ben wanted to burn through the last of the money thrown at him by his parents, and buying a comfortable-ish room at Canto seemed like a good way to stick it to them while still establishing a somewhat quality state of living. He stamped down his insecurities, determined to prove himself a true bohemian to these knights if it kills him, and let the door swing open. 

His meager possessions were all clearly laid out from the entry way: a mattress on the floor, white bedding spilling off where he had rolled out that morning (okay fine, early afternoon). A small table, remnants of last nights meal, and a single framed photograph of a butterfly that Ben had taken in his adolescence on the eastern wall. A small high window let the twilight poor in, barely illuminating the scene. The Knights seemed to move as one, and they were all crowded in the room, yet somehow not uncomfortably. Ben rushed to his mattress and pulled a small, water-damaged notebook out from underneath his pillow. He cleared his throat, but waited for further instruction. Vicrul made a nondescript "go on" motion with an open palm, and Ben looked down at the most recent page. It was a short line of dialogue, written for a half baked relationship in an unborn screenplay. He inhaled shakily, and read: 

"Kylo stares into the eyes of his true love, his only equal, and declares, 'My Kira. I want to help you. I want you to join me. Tell me... do you know the truth about your parents? Or have you always known? You've just hidden it away. Say it.' She hesitates for only a moment, then admits, 'They were nobody.' Kylo continues for her, 'They were filthy junk traders. Sold you off for drinking money. They're dead in a pauper's grave in the Jakku desert. You come from nothing. You're nothing. But not to me. You aren't alone anymore. You'll never be alone... now that I have you.'" 

Ben inhales again, but does not continue reading. He slowly looks up from the page, and admits to the Knights, "I know, uh, that it's not a lot. But I have a lot of these... vignettes, I guess? I feel... connected to these characters and I know there is a real worthy story here. I just need... the freedom to tell it. And some experience to help add the truth." He locks eyes with Vicrul, who has a small smile forming in his eyes. 

"Well, shit. The kid DOES know how to write." Trudgen and Cardo laugh along with him, but it doesn't feel mean-spirited to Ben. Something akin to excitement boils in his throat. Or maybe vomit. It's too soon to tell. 

"If Kira and Kylo have more moments like this, maybe I could work with it. The music is already beginning to sing to me. Ap'Lek! Piano? Strings?" 

"Both, of course. And I'm feeling deep trends in the base line and perhaps some hypnotic vocalizing...?" Ap'Lek pulls a pen out of his deep pockets and begins to hum to himself while writing on his arm. Excitement buzzes in the air as Vicrul then turns to Turuk and asks about costumes and to Trudgen and Cardo about set and props. But Ben can't pull his eyes from Ushar's electric gaze. 

Vicrul, pleased with the skeleton of a show forming from nothing, announces "Excellently bohemian developments, dear Ben. We will finally have a show to show Poe!" This seems to be the final nail in the coffin for Ushar, who speedily makes his exit. "And perfect! A new show, a new talent, and the trash has taken itself out! Incandiferous!" Ben's head is spinning. It's his first night! Could this really be coming together this easily? 

Apparently, it could, as he quickly finds himself hip deep in rehearsal for his own show that he has hardly begun to formulate. Gamorrean Ale flows steadily as the exposition develops. Around 3am, Vicrul tells Ben the great scheme. "Tomorrow night, we dress up our finest. We attend the show of the Diamond Dogs and participate with the gentlemen as spectators. Surely, Dameron will be in a fine mood, and we will approach him as soon as the show is over and ask to be financed. As long as we promise the biggest role to his favorite girl, we should be set." 

"This isn't the first time you have used this plan, is it?" 

"No of course not... it's somewhat of a... weekly occurrence?" 

"I see. And what makes you think this will work this time?" 

"Well, we actually haven't ever made it that far... Usually, Ushar decides to put the show on independently, or we are all far too sloshed to propose anything, or the boys all go off with some girls and I... hate talking to Poe. But I think you guys will hit it off? He also has this rugged, wealthy vibe. So we will tell him you're a famous writer from Alderaan. Once he hears your poetry, he'll be amazed and insist that you write something for his favorite Knights, and his shinning diamond."

Ben's heart raced. He kept hearing Han's voice in his head: "You'll end up wasting your life at Canto Bight with a cancan dancer! What would your mother say? What would you GRANDFATHER say?!"

"I can't write the show!"

"Why not?" Vicrul asked, sitting up a little straighter with the change in tone. "Don't you believe in beauty?"

"Well... yes..."

"Freedom?"

"Of course!" 

"Truth?" 

"Yes." 

"Love?"

"Love? Love? Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen. Love is a many-splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!" Ben declares, likely due to his inebriation, but nonetheless accurate to his convictions. 

Vicrul smiles, "You can't fool us! You're the voice of the Children of the Resistance! We can 't be fooled!" He eagerly pours another round of drinks, even though several of the Knights were mostly dead to the world, "To our writer! And freedom, beauty, truth, and love!" 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Rey slips backstage and is handed a towel to dry the sweat that is dripping down her face and onto her exposed chest. She spies Poe lingering in the wings, and makes her way towards him. He wraps her in a quick hug and she smiles in response. 

"Babe! Phenomenal. You would not believe the credits you raked in in those last five minutes alone!!" 

"Wouldn't believe it, Dameron? I shouldn't have to _believe..."_

"Ok yeah yeah I hear you. You'll _see,_ Rey, on your cheque. Happy?" 

"Ecstatic. What's next?" 

"Well we have the cantina band out now, and everyone honestly seems on the verge of blacking out. What do you think of heading back to your room, call it a night?" 

Rey smiled easily, "Okay, see you in the morning?" 

"Same as always, my love." Poe smiled and turned, off to offer notes to the rest of the dancers.

Rey leans against the exposed brick and breathes deeply for a moment. The sound of the band's brass warms the air around her and she closes her eyes and pretends for another moment that she is just one of the patrons. She soaks in the ambiance. Rose approaches from her left and Rey feels her coming before she opens her eyes. 

"Hey, excellent floor work tonight. I think I saw some guys cream their pants!!" 

"Aw, Rose, you always know what a lady wants to hear." 

"Thanks, I try. What's the fantasy tonight? You haven't even looked at me yet." 

"I'm an heiress and my disgusting husband died... under mysterious circumstances, of course. And now, I'm at Canto Bight to find some financiers and be discovered. And I'll finally be-" 

"A REAL Actress!" Rose finishes for Rey, in a kind but mocking voice. "Why do these scenarios include you killing men more often than not?" 

"A girl can dream, Rose. And you were the one to ask." Rey explained with a sigh, standing up straight and linking eyes with Rose. "What's the plan tonight?" 

"I have someone waiting in my room. One of the Knights, I think?" 

Rey rolls her eyes at this. _Artists_ , she thinks with a scoff, _always willing to please, never willing to pay._

 _"_ Well in that case I hope you have fun. I'm going back to my room to finish off the fantasy. See you around?" Rey makes to leave, but Rose grabs her wrist. 

"Don't knock it til you try it. It's so much more fulfilling to be adored than to be paid. It's nice when it's personal, not financial, you know?" Rey shook her head at her silly romantic friend. Rose really is the only optimist in the business. Rey needs to keep her around, and she knows this, but she can't help but doubt her version of reality. 

"Goodnight, Rosie!" Rey offers over a shoulder as she retreats. She passes Finn and Amilyn on her way, but avoids any eye contact, in the hope that she will make it to her room without anymore interruptions, the shimmer of her daydream fading the longer her eyes are open. Determined, she picks up her pace imperceptibly, plotting how she would proposition some wealthy asshole to buy her mind instead of her body. 

She makes her way to the basement of Canto, the base of the band still striking the floorboards. She allows it to lull her to sleep, pretending it is applause for her final monologue in a play that will never be written. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listen to the soundtrack to Moulin Rouge! on every depression drive (lol) and couldn't get Ben's face out of my mind while absolutely jamming to El Tango De Roxanne, and so now you have this. 
> 
> Much love to anyone reading, more coming very soon. This is also my first ff (!!!!) and any comments are welcome. :')


End file.
